Terry Odell - Mapleton 01 - Deadly Secrets (6 page)

Gordon stifled a yawn as the mayor droned on about decreases in parking ticket revenue, raising the fines for speeders, the need for more school crossing guards, and something about coleslaw. Gordon blinked. Coleslaw? Once he realized the mayor was rambling about the Fourth of July picnic plans, which would probably change six ways from Sunday between now and the event, three months away, Gordon let his mind sift through the facts in the Karl Franklin case.

Case? He suppressed a snort. He had an accident victim, not even in his jurisdiction. The only facts he had were that the guy’s name was Karl Franklin and he was from Florida. But those pictures of Megan Wyatt. They definitely had his cop sense tingling. Another tingling came from his belt, where his cell phone buzzed. The mayor looked up from his papers and glowered.

“Sorry,” Gordon said. He glanced at the display, then arranged his face into what he hoped was a solemn expression. “Police business. I’ve got to take it.”

Good old Laurie, calling right on time. He wondered if anyone on the town council had figured out that he got called away from a lot of meetings. So what if they had. He nodded around the table and beat a hasty retreat for the hallway. Once out of the meeting room, he sauntered toward the exit.

“Thanks, Laurie,” he said. “You’re a life-saver, as always. I thought I’d go crazy—”

“This one’s for real, Chief.”

Gordon stopped mid-stride. “What?”

“Another ambulance call to the Kretzers’. And Officer Solomon’s rolling.”

Gordon remembered the call earlier in the day, but that had been a straight paramedic issue. Why Solomon this time? “Rose or Sam?”

 “No. Something about Megan Wyatt. Since she was in here before, I thought you might want to know.”

“Details?”

“I heard the tail end of the radio traffic. They sent Solomon out code two, not three, so I figured it wasn’t too bad. You want me to find out?”

“Don’t bother. I’m on my way to the Kretzers’. Be there in ten.” He lengthened his stride, making his way out of the building and across the parking lot to his cruiser. Code two. More than a parking violation, but not urgent enough for lights and sirens. Then again, police code threes were few and far between in Mapleton. He hadn’t heard the ambulance siren, so his concerns eased a bit further. He climbed into the SUV and flipped on the radio. “Connie, what’s going on at the Kretzers’?”

Connie’s voice came over the radio, clear and calm. Gordon would have relaxed at her tone, but he knew Connie could handle an armed robbery, a bomb scare, and a shootout, all at the same time and never sound any more excited than the weatherman predicting a mild and sunny day. At least he assumed she could, should anything like that ever happen in Mapleton. She’d been chief dispatcher longer than Gordon could remember, and he’d never heard her lose her cool.

“Solomon’s not on scene yet. Caller reported an injury, possible mugging.”

“Anyone else involved?”

“No others injured. The incident didn’t happen at the Kretzers’,” Connie said. “Solomon didn’t request backup.”

Gordon thanked her and lead-footed it toward the Kretzer place. He started to switch on the lights, but didn’t bother. Traffic was light, and everyone in town knew to get out of his way when they saw the official police SUV. Sometimes it was good to be the chief, he thought. Except for the damn budget meetings.

He switched to the Nextel. “Solomon,” he barked.

“Yes, Chief.”

“Report.”

“Just arriving. Ambulance is on scene.”

“I’m about five away.”

He arrived in three. The ambulance sat in the driveway. Good sign. If it had been a scoop and scoot, they’d be racing away, sirens wailing. Or did they have a body? Fighting the adrenaline rush, he parked on the street, loped across the lawn and bounded up the stairs. The front door stood open. He tapped once, then stepped inside.

Megan lay propped up on a gurney in the middle of the living room. Dave Gilman and Tom Reynolds hovered over her, Reynolds on the radio and Gilman starting an IV. They worked methodically, and Gordon didn’t get a sense of urgency. Relieved, he moved closer. Bruises were already apparent on her face. Her eyes were closed. Plastic tubing hooked over her ears and into her nostrils.

He resisted approaching her while the medics did their thing. Ed Solomon was offering reassurances to Rose and Sam, while the grandson—Justin, was it?—leaned against the wall, clenching and unclenching his fists. He wore running shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, sweat-darkened triangles at the chest and armpits. Matted hair, damp. But breathing easy.

Gordon slid his gaze to the gurney. Megan wore a pair of loose cotton shorts. A warmup jacket hung over the arm of a nearby chair and a pair of sneakers sat on the floor below. Had she been running with Justin? He nodded in Solomon’s direction, then edged across the room to Justin’s side.

“How is she?” Gordon asked.

Justin stared into space, as if he were trapped in another dimension. A muscle in his jaw twitched rhythmically. He seemed agitated, which was understandable, but it seemed to be more than concern for Megan.

“Justin?” Gordon said. “Are you okay?”

The man blinked and clawed his fingers through his hair. “What?” He shook his head, as if to clear it. “Oh, yeah. No problem.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Robot-like, Justin stepped to an end table. Picked up a water bottle. Unscrewed the cap, took a long drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I wish I knew. I was out for a run. Around the pond. Megan wanted to tag along, but she’s not adjusted to the altitude yet. She got as far as that open space down the road”—he swept a hand in the general direction—“before she realized she’d never make it. She wasn’t there when I finished my run. I thought she’d gotten tired of waiting and left. But when I got here, she hadn’t shown up.”

Gordon pulled out his notepad and pen. “Go on. When did all this happen?”

Justin drained the rest of the water. “It was about four, maybe a little after, when we left the house. Maybe twenty minutes to get to the pond?” The water bottle crackled as he squeezed it, accompanying his speech like a background percussionist. “I don’t know. Megan was having trouble keeping up, so we went slow. Stopped a couple of times. I can usually do the pond trail in about thirty minutes. I’d say less this time.”

“So, you finished somewhere around five?” Gordon glanced at his watch. It was quarter to six.

“That sounds reasonable,” Justin said. “I wasn’t too worried—figured Megan had stopped to chat, or had decided to walk along one of the pond trails while I was running.” His mouth twisted up in a half-smile. “You know, to prove that she wasn’t a wimp.”

Gordon nodded. “Guess she hasn’t changed.”

A sharp hiss came from the gurney. Then a yelp.

Justin snapped his head around. The cop spun on his heel and got to her side seconds ahead of him.

“What’s wrong?” the cop asked.

“Tweaked her wrist,” Dave said. He bent over Megan. “I’m going to immobilize it. I don’t think it’s broken, but they’ll x-ray it at the clinic.”

“Can you get this tubing off me?” she asked, rocking her head back and forth on the pillow.

“Sorry, no can do,” Tom said.

“You can use the extra oxygen,” Justin said.

She frowned. “Yeah, yeah. Sea level to six thousand feet. I got it. But it’s annoying.”

Justin moved forward, took her good hand, careful to avoid the IV. “What happened?” Please say she did something stupid, like trip and fall on the trail. That she made her way home before collapsing on the porch. As if she hadn’t heard his question, she stared at him. Or past him. She blinked, and her eyes cleared.

“Rose and Sam?” Megan asked. “Are they—?”

Oma and Opa appeared on the other side of the gurney. “We’re here. You do what Davey and Tommy say,” Oma said.

Justin smiled, not bothering to remind her how she’d refused to listen to them a few hours ago. He exchanged a quick glance with Sam, who returned the smile.

“We want to get her to the med center,” Davey said.

“Hang on one second,” Gordon said. “I’d like to ask her a few questions.”

“No can do, Chief,” Davey said. “She’s bruised and passed out. There’s a lump on her forehead, and her wrist should be x-rayed. Docs want to see her.”

“Did someone do this to you, Megan?” Gordon asked, ignoring Davey. The scrapes on her forehead and cheeks stood out in bright contrast against the pallor of her skin.

“I…I don’t know. It’s fuzzy.” Megan said.

“Can you give a painkiller?” Justin asked the paramedics.

“Not until the ER folks check her out,” Tommy said.

Justin stepped away to give them room. “Can I come along?”

“Not in the rig,” Davey said. “But you can follow us to the ER.”

“We’ll come too,” Sam said. “I’ll call Doctor Evans, let him know what happened.”

“Of course,” Justin said. “Give me a minute to change.”

The cop who’d been talking to Oma and Opa nodded Gordon over. Justin was torn between wanting to eavesdrop and getting to the medical center. Oma’s insistence that he get his
tuchis
moving made the choice obvious.

“Ten minutes, Oma. We’ll be there in plenty of time.”

An hour later, they were still in the small waiting room of the Mapleton medical clinic. Oma paced, Sam grumbled. Justin tried to stay calm. He’d grabbed Megan’s purse and dealt with getting the insurance ball rolling. She’d had all the requisite cards, and he’d used the opportunity to search for evidence that hinted at any ulterior motive for her visit, but aside from typical female handbag clutter, he had zilch. Maybe they’d keep her overnight and he could search her room
and
her luggage.

 The double doors opened. The antiseptic hospital smell intensified. It took a moment to recognize the two paramedics, now in street clothes. They smiled, and Justin stood. “Any news?” he asked.

Davey extended his hand. “Dave Gilman. My partner, Tom Reynolds.”

Justin shook each of their hands in turn. “Justin Nadell.”

They nodded, then shifted their attention to Oma and Opa. “Nothing to worry about,” Tom said.

“
Gott sei Dank,”
Oma said. “Thank God. When can we take her home?”

“You can go see her now,” Dave said. “The paperwork will probably take longer than the treatment. The doctor has to release her, but it shouldn’t be long.”

“Did she say what happened?” Justin asked, lowering his voice.

“You’ll have to talk to the doc,” Tom said, glancing in Oma’s direction. He lowered his voice to match Justin’s tone. “Once they’re out of the rig and into ER, we’re done.”

Did that mean they knew something they couldn’t tell him?

Megan’s head throbbed. The bright light in the exam room stabbed behind her eyes like javelins.

“Meggie, doll.”

She squinted, bringing her arm up to shield her eyes and grimaced at the sharp twinge in her wrist. Rose and Sam hovered over her, fear and concern etched in their faces.

“I’m fine.” Her voice quavered, which made Rose and Sam seem even more worried.

“Is this true?” Rose said, looking at Doctor Evans.

“I see no reason to keep her here,” he said. “She needs rest. She’ll get more at home in her own bed than in the hospital.” He gave Rose a stern glare over the top of his glasses. “But light meals for twenty-four hours.”

Rose nodded solemnly. “I have chicken soup.”

The doctor smiled. “Perfect. The workup was negative. She’s got some contusions, a mild sprain to her wrist. She’s probably going to feel sore for a day or two.”

“She’s right here,” Megan said. “And she definitely feels sore.” Like her entire body was one big bruise.

“Oh, sweetie. What happened to you?” Rose brushed her hair from Megan’s forehead.

Megan furrowed her brow, trying to remember what she’d already said. All she got for her effort was more throbbing. “It’s fuzzy.” She focused on Doctor Evans. “I remember going to the pond with Justin.” She noticed him in the doorway. He gave her a smile and a finger-wave. “And then I was here. Nothing in between. Oh, except I think I remember being in the ambulance. Do I have amnesia?”

The doctor shook his head. “A little short-term memory loss of the events surrounding the trauma are normal. I predict your memory will return in no time.”

A plump, gray-haired woman came in with a clipboard. “I’ll need your signature, Miss Wyatt. I’ve called for a wheelchair, and you’re good to go.”

“I’ll bring the car around,” Justin said.

Megan reached for the pen. “Um…can’t say it’ll be legible.” She held up her wrist, encased in a thick elastic bandage.

“I’ll sign,” Sam said. The woman handed him the clipboard, he scrawled his signature, and Rose insisted on pushing the wheelchair. The orderly didn’t argue.

It felt like Justin hit every pothole and bump in the road on the drive home, but at last they arrived. She allowed Rose to cluck and fuss, not bothering to protest. Had it been only this morning when she’d left San Diego?

Megan accepted Rose’s help changing from her dirty clothes into a clean nightshirt, and crawled into bed. Rose closed the curtains, kissed Megan on the forehead, and tiptoed toward the door. “I’m going to leave the door open a bit so we can hear you if you need anything. You rest, and I’ll fix you a bite to eat.”

“Thanks.” Megan leaned against the pillows Rose had propped up behind her and sighed. God, what should she do? The pain pill the doctor had given her had turned her brain to cotton candy. She closed her eyes.

She opened them a short time later at a tap on the door. Light from the hall silhouetted a figure in the doorway.

“Hey, girlfriend. Heard you had a little mishap.” Angie strode into the room carrying a tray. Balancing it, she flipped the switch for the overhead light with her elbow.

 Megan squirmed up to a sitting position, grimacing. “Apparently.”

Angie set the tray on Megan’s lap, then closed the bedroom and bathroom doors. She dragged the desk chair over beside the bed and perched on the edge. “I dropped off some cinnamon buns and Rose told me you’d had to go to the ER.” Her eyes shimmered with a mixture of concern and curiosity. “So, spill.”

Megan considered the tray. A mug of broth, a small bowl of Jell-O and some applesauce. Rose must have taken Doctor Evans’ words to heart. Not a cookie or pastry in sight. She cupped the mug with both hands, inhaling the rich, steamy broth. “I take it you’re not referring to the soup.”

Angie rolled her eyes. “I told you I had a feeling something bad was going to happen.”

“As I recall, you said it was going to happen to Rose and Sam. If this was related to your
feeling
, then I’m glad it was me and not them.”

“So, what did happen?”

Megan’s head throbbed. “It’s all blurry. The doctor said it might take awhile for the memory to return.”

“Wow. You’ve got amnesia?”

“Calm down. It’s normal, he said. And short term.”

“You don’t think you fell, though. Someone did this.”

Without warning, the man’s voice, his cigarette breath punctuating his threats, were there, although she couldn’t see his face. Her hands trembled, and Angie took the mug from her grasp. “Careful.”

Megan composed her features. She wasn’t ready to deal with Angie’s prying. “I told you, I don’t remember.”

Angie cast a not-so-furtive glance toward the bathroom door. “So do you remember this? Where was Justin while everything was going on?”

“You think…you think it was Justin? No way.” Justin didn’t smoke.

Angie hunched a shoulder. “Probably not. Although think about it. He’s out running. He could have grabbed you and left you lying somewhere, then come back and played the worry card to ward off suspicion.” Angie seemed disappointed. “Or what if there’s a serial killer on the loose? And you overpowered him and escaped.”

“You’re reading too many thrillers, or watching too much television, Angie. It doesn’t make any sense.”

The room seemed to blink out. Angie leaned forward, in full mother hen mode. “Oh, I’m sorry. This is real and I’m making stupid jokes. Was it terrible?”

Megan shook her head. “Not really. It’s over. Drop it.”

“Okay. Can you eat with your wrist bandaged? I could feed you.”

“Not necessary.” She worked on the soup, easily holding the mug in her left hand. “God, I’ve missed Rose’s chicken soup. I’ve tried to make it, but it’s never the same.”

Angie waited until Megan finished the soup, then leaned forward. “What do you think of Justin? He changed, didn’t he?”

“And I notice you didn’t bother to prepare me.”

Angie grinned. “Didn’t want to spoil the surprise. He’s hot.” She glanced at the bathroom door. “And sleeps next door.”

“A minute ago you wanted me to believe he could have hurt me. Now you’re playing matchmaker?”

“Oh, I was teasing.”

“About the mugging or the matchmaking?”

“Shut up and finish eating or Rose will shove it down your throat.”

Now
that
threat wasn’t so far-fetched. Megan lifted the dish of applesauce close to her mouth and scooped it in. When she’d done the same with the Jell-O, Angie gathered the tray and went to the door. “I have to get going. Call if you need me.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Or if you remember the details.”

“I’ll be fine. And thanks for stopping by.”

“What are friends for?”

After Angie left, Megan decided she couldn’t put off a trip to the bathroom any longer. When she opened the door, she heard Justin in the next room, talking to someone. He sounded irritated. Maybe a few notches above irritated. She crept across the room and put her ear to the door.

Chapter Six

“What do we have, Ed?” Gordon approached the bench on the path where Justin said he’d left Megan.

Ed Solomon snapped a few more pictures, then ran his fingers through his hair. “Not a whole lot. No decent footprints. No trace I can find beyond a couple of fresh-looking cigarette butts, which I bagged. One with lipstick. Might have belonged to the kids. According to Justin, he finished his run and interrupted a couple of kids engaging in some minor hanky-panky. He said he didn’t see any cars parked nearby, so they probably live within walking distance.”

“I don’t suppose he got their names.”

“No, but he did describe them—although you know how unreliable eyewitness descriptions can be. From a distance, he thought she was Megan. Same general coloring. The guy was about five-ten, skinny. When I finish here, I’ll go knocking and see if I can round them up. Maybe I can stimulate their memories.”

Gordon gazed around the gravel and pine needle strewn clearing. “How many people use this access point, you think?”

“In summer, a lot,” Ed said. “Now, not so many. But it’s warming up, and runners like to start here, because it’s level. A dozen today wouldn’t be unreasonable.”

“So, we’re looking at a window of what? About forty-five minutes between the time Justin Nadell left her and the lovebirds showed up. Any number of people could have passed through.”

Solomon nodded in agreement. “Hasn’t rained in weeks. No decent shoe prints.”

“If this is where Megan was grabbed, you think it was opportunistic, or someone wanted her specifically?”

“Hell, if we knew that, we’d be in the office solving the damn thing.”

Gordon walked outward from the bench in an expanding spiral, shining his flashlight on the ground. “I don’t see any signs of a struggle. You think maybe the whole incident was an accident? She went jogging, slipped, fell, bumped her head? She just got into town—could have been lightheaded from the altitude. And the Megan I remember wouldn’t admit to being stupid.”

“You think she’s feigning memory loss?”

Gordon shrugged. “At the moment, that hypothesis is about as good as being mugged. We’ve got no proof of either.”

“Better for the citizenry if it’s not a mugger. They’ll drive us bonkers, calling every time the trees creak in the wind or a cat runs across their yard.”

“Call me if you find our lovebirds. Maybe they’ll have remembered something. Do your ‘I’m a cop, you have to talk to me’ thing. I’m going to grab some dinner.”

“It’s good to be the Chief,” Ed muttered.

###

Gordon stood inside the door of Daily Bread, wondering why it felt different. It took a second to realize he hadn’t heard Angie’s usual cheerful greeting. He checked the counter, where Ozzie, whose broad girth and extra chins attested to enjoying his own cooking, picked up a coffee pot and mug, and paused, clearly waiting to see where Gordon would sit.

Scanning the room for Dave Gilman and Tom Reynolds, Gordon gestured to the booth at the rear where the paramedics waited. Reynolds made room on his side of the vinyl-covered bench, and Gordon sat. Simultaneously, Ozzie plunked a mug in front of him and filled it with hot, black coffee, a shade or two darker than his skin. He wiped his hands on his apron. “Meatloaf tonight, Chief.” Ozzie retreated to the kitchen.

Not even a question. Lord, was he in a rut. Was that why he was picking at the accident case? To break the monotony of paperwork and budgets? Or to prove he still had the cop chops? That Dix hadn’t recommended him for the job of chief because he thought he wasn’t good enough for street work?

He shoved those doubts aside. “Busy day.”

“Definitely not the usual routine,” Tom said. “What did you want to ask us?”

“The accident earlier today. Trooper on scene said he thinks they were searching for shell casings. You find any gunshot wounds on your victim?”

The medics exchanged surprised glances. “No. No way,” they said, in unison.

Gordon nodded. “Didn’t think you’d have missed it.”

“Well,” Dave said, stirring his coffee. “Even if we did, the M.E. wouldn’t have found it until after we got him to the morgue. I’m thinking the troopers would have been long gone by the time that happened.”

“I’ll ask, but I’m sure you’re right.” Gordon lifted his mug and inhaled deeply before taking a sip.

“You know,” Tom said. “We could rig an IV to get the caffeine directly into your bloodstream.”

“You saying I drink too much coffee?” Gordon asked.

“Afraid I’ll have to vote with Tom on that one.” Angie’s voice carried across the room. “Ready for a refill?” She was already ambling across the diner, coffee pot in hand.

“Maybe top it off,” he said. Dave and Tom slid their mugs closer. Angie filled each in turn, no wasted motion, no wasted coffee. Very little about her was wasted, he thought. Short blonde hair, no makeup other than some light gloss on her lips. No polish on her trimmed nails. She wore jeans and a Daily Bread t-shirt. Her scent was her own—she didn’t wear perfume because she didn’t want it to clash with the food she served.

And why was he noticing her scent? Or wondering if her hair looked the same when she woke up in the morning. He realized he’d held her gaze longer than necessary. Breaking the connection, he nudged the filled mugs to the medics.

“Sorry I wasn’t here when you got in, guys,” she said, apparently oblivious to his ogling. “Ozzie take your orders?”

The three men nodded. “They should be coming up, then. I’ll check.” She half turned, then swiveled and leaned over the table. “Can you tell me what happened to Megan? I was over there, and she says she can’t remember.”

“Not unusual,” Tom said. “Her injuries weren’t bad, but she might be suppressing the event itself. Temporary memory loss happens quite often.”

“You saw her?” Gordon asked. “So she’s home?”